


The Many Trials of Clark Kent

by RalekNoor



Category: DC Extended Universe, DCU, DCU (Comics), Superman (Comics), Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Other, and events from previous runs or adaptations will happen, but things change a lot, but with a twist of course : - ), hfkjgthkrjh, hi i love superman, i hope you enjoy!, i know what the plot is gonna be and what events are gonna happen, i mean i do!!!!, since i don't have a crystal clear idea of where the story is headed, so everything will be updated with each chapter!, that's the first thing you need to know, the characters list and relationships list will be updated as I go along!, this isn't based off of any particular run or media, though you will see heavy influences from a lot of it in this fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-29 00:12:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16733319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RalekNoor/pseuds/RalekNoor
Summary: Superman is falling. And he keeps falling.As he falls, memories resurface but are blurred - separated into neat compartments. They're not how he remembers them. Something is eating away at his subconscious - at his soul, his morality. So he keeps falling and will continue to fall.Until he wakes up.





	The Many Trials of Clark Kent

I feel . . . as if I’m falling. I never fall. I haven’t fallen since I was a boy. The wind is biting at my skin - it doesn’t hurt, of course - but I can feel it. I can feel the clouds parting as I fall through them. This all feels like a dream - no, it’s more appropriate to call this a nightmare. I can’t do anything. My hands won’t move, I can’t straighten out. What was it Zhūangzi said? _I dreamt I was a butterfly, fluttering hither and thither._ Oh, boy. How I wish that were the case. Even involuntary movement would be welcome right now. C’mon, Kal. Move your limbs. Just move them. It’s not that hard. Just - _move_!

  
*

   
“Clark - _Clark_ ! Wake up, honey! Breakfast is ready, you don’t want to be late for school.” a pregnant pause. “ _Again_.”

 _  
School? Am I in another dream? That’s Mom’s voice . . ._ “Uh - yeah, _yeah_. Coming, Mom!”

  
Clark, the soon-to-be Superman, swings his legs off out of bed, bare feet pressing into the wooden floor. It’s a familiar feeling, a long-missed feeling. Not quite a memory and yet . . . not quite real. He walks slowly over to the window, looking out at the horizon and seeing the sun rising as sure as a summer’s day. He can feel the rays kissing his skin, revitalizing him. He now knows this feeling as the sun granting him all of his extraordinary abilities, but as a youth - as _this_ youth - he attributed it to his humanity: his internal clock waking him and his cells back up. Why does he remember these things - memories of events that haven’t happened yet - and why is he back in Smallville?

  
“Honey,” Martha scoffs as she ascends the stairs, laundry in tow. “You’ll get nowhere just staring at the sunrise like that. You’ve seen one, you’ve seen them _all_. Start getting ready, please?”

   
“Yeah, _yeah_. Mom. I’m - I’m getting ready.” he offers a smile - aiming for tired, but it comes off as fatigued and weary. Mothers always know best.

   
Martha, in response, eyes her son and dips her head. “Alright - are you sure you’re feeling alright? You look a little . . .”

  
“Just tired, Mom. Didn’t - get much sleep last night.”

   
“I imagine so - tests are coming up and then prom - what more could a growing boy be worried about?” now she smiles, and Clark had forgotten how beautiful her smile was.

   
“Ha-ha, very funny Mom. I’m alright, promise.”

   
“O-o-okay, honey. Oh, before I forget, Dad wants you to move the hay back into the barn.”

   
“But I _just_ put it out.”

   
“There’s a storm coming, Clark, didn’t you notice that when you were daydreaming out the window?”

   
_Well, I’ll be . . . she’s right. But it was sunny just a couple minutes ago._ “Oh.”

   
“Yeah, _oh_ .” She pats him on his shoulder with her free hand and descends back down the stairs hastily, as if trying to beat the storm. “ _Start getting ready, young man_.” It’s sharp, but in the way only Martha Kent could be sharp: with plenty of love, too.

   
He stands in silence for a few moments longer before snapping to and getting dressed, putting on cologne (a special ritual he’d forgotten all about) and combing his hair. Looking in the mirror, he misses the curl he’d soon develop, misses a lot of things actually. He wonders how Lois is doing - or how _anybody’s_ doing. If what he remembered actually happened, of course. It’s strange, the memories are there but . . . the feelings are separated from him. He can remember his and Lois’s first dance vividly and yet, not where it was at, or what song it was to. Everything around them is blurred, like someone had taken each individual sense and put them into neat boxes.

   
He can’t worry about that now - not when there’s little he can do about it. This day and the storm that’s coming, it’s something he doesn’t recall; anything can happen. He doesn’t know how powerful he is yet, if he’d even be _remotely_ able to figure out what’s going on. The best he can do is live that Smallville life all over again.

  
*

To neither of the Kent’s surprise, Clark had finished bringing in all of the hay in near-record time and took his place at the breakfast table. That is to say, of course, the table in front of the TV, turned to the news station. Jonathan Kent stands against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching his son patiently. There’s something different about him today - he somehow seems so much older, his eyes are sunken in and yet, not.

   
“I think Clark’s more worried about school than he lets on, Jonathan.” Martha’s sneaked up on him again, taking his arm around hers. “At least it’s a _normal_ fear to have. Better that than . . . discovering you can shoot heat from your eyes or - or -”

   
“Have super-hearing?” Clark chimes in, lips thin and eventually spreading into a smile.

   
“Yes. Like that.” she says, stern in the way only Martha Kent could be stern. “Don’t listen in on our conversations, Clark, you know that.”

   
“Right, Mom. Sorry.” he dips his head apologetically, eyes cast back to the TV, immediately involved in whatever news story is going on.

   
“I know, Martha. I’m worried about him too. It’s not like him to worry so much about school. Especially over a test. Think there’s something else going on?” he says, pressing a kiss to Martha’s forehead.

   
“I don’t know, Jonathan. I just hope it passes. Like this _storm_ , my goodness. Cheryl said it could be the worst one Smallville’s seen.” a pause. “Well, worst _natural_ one, anyways.”

   
“Just what we need - I better double check all the tools and make sure they’re covered up. I would bring them in but . . . I just don’t have the time, what with everything in the house and then the truck. I don’t want to ask Clark -”

   
“Go, honey, check the tools. Just be careful, the wind is already beginning to pick up. If you need him - I’m _sure_ Clark will help.”

   
“Yeah, you’re right. He’s _our_ son, after all.” Jonathan Kent smiles the smile that made Martha fall for him all those years ago and kisses her firmly. He can feel Clark’s eyes boring into him, can feel his smile, too, and he’s proud of that - proud of his son. “Be back soon.”

   
“You better, mister.”

   
Exit Jonathan Kent and enter Martha, taking her place besides Clark on the couch. He makes a small note of her - a shifting of his eyes from the TV to her and then back again - but otherwise doesn’t speak, doesn’t laugh or smile. He’s so entranced by the news report that it’s far from what a distant teenager would be like. But she doesn’t press the matter, only sits with him, head on his shoulder. Normally, she would be chiding him for wasting time watching TV, but she can’t bring herself to do it. There’s something in his eyes.

   
Meanwhile, back in Clark Kent’s world, the news report becomes all-too-real for him. The colors are vibrant, the buzzing of helicopters flying by gets louder and louder, he can hear the brook near the crime scene they’re reporting about. Still, he sits entranced, unable to move - just like that dream. _C’mon, Clark. Move your limbs, do something,_ anything! _Just wake up!_

   
“Breaking news,” it’s a female reporter, a familiar voice, a familiar face - her name, Lois Lane - touches at the deeper recesses of his mind. It causes his bones to ache, his breath to get shallow. “It’s uhm - it’s apparent now that Superman is _not_ responding as he falls and falls from heights unknown. It’s - hold on - we’ve . . . ah -” the reporter, Lois, catches her breath and stifles a sob. “We’ve just received reports that Superman has, indeed, crashed down in the heart of Metropolis. He’s . . . he’s not getting up. Citizens of Metropolis . . . Superman is . . . is dead.”

   
_Superman is . . . dead? But -_ no. _I’m right - I’m right here! Lois, it’s me! Guys, it’s me! I’m right here! Superman isn’t dead -_

   
Clark collapses on the floor, color drained from his entire body. He’s as white as a ghost - a ghost that crosses Martha’s face as she witnesses this, somehow in slow motion. As any mother might in this situation, she pauses for a moment, thinks to herself _nononononono this isn’t real it’s not real it’s a dream right surely it has to be it’s not real c’mon clark wake up c’mon honey c’mon c’mon_ and then she springs into action. She checks his pulse - normal. His temperature is normal. He’s breathing normal. But he’s so pale - so drained of life, of energy. What’s happening? _What’s happening? Why now? Why him? Why not me? Why not_ me?

   
“J-Jonathan!!” she cries out. “It’s - it’s Clark! He’s not waking up! Jonathan!!”

   
“Superman is . . . it’s a sad day for Metropolis. Superman is dead.”

   
_Mom - Dad - Lois - Lana - anybody, please! Please listen to me! He’s not dead, I’m right here! I’m right here! I’m alive!_

   
**Not for long, Man of Steel. Not. For. Long.**


End file.
